


A Pirate's Kiss

by pro_se



Series: softly, in vain [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Gambling, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 02:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12949542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_se/pseuds/pro_se
Summary: Vane steals your coins, assistance, and attention while you gamble in familiar company.Or, Charles Vane learns how to ask permission.





	A Pirate's Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: written with regards to a shared past established in the previous fic _softly, in vain_. I really tried to code/portray charles vane as ace bc there's tons of potential pals

 Nassau knows no limits when it comes to alcohol or sex, two staples for seasalt pirates with crooked smiles and intentions.

Free from countries’ laws and expectations, and united under the skull-printed flag, each individual on Nassau was free to court whoever they pleased. It was not unusual for tavern patrons to slink away with women or men on their arms, or both. The only consequence for bedding pirates was the inevitable tide of crude jokes the following morning.

You’ve only seen one pirate stalk the island in solitude, and that was the glowering Charles Vane. His rather apathetic outlook for courtesans was fodder for your incessant interrogation; it was tolerable banter for characters who knew of the other’s past, who clung to the dregs of what they used to be. Vane used to be your friend.

Now, he’s company.

The quasi-permanent island residents built their sort of townhouse complexes, far inland and away from the threat of typhoons. With Vane’s unobserved assistance, you had secured one of the lower bedrooms and found a job in the trade market. The port welcomed you and your hangover recipes with open arms.

Edward Kenway quickly sinks his teeth into your unique relationship with Vane, and invited you for drinks. You offer nothing but half-assed memories and woven tales about knowing Vane when he was a privateer. Something about your voice, or the way you win the card game, possesses Kenway and he stubbornly introduces you to his fellows.

Cards and drinks are routine in your new life on Nassau. Your presence is welcomed in stride, though your one fallacy is an inability to hold a drink. The first time infamous Blackbeard encouraged you to sip stolen brandy, it’d burned and choked, and elicited roars of laughter from every pirate at the table.

Out of the corner of your stinging, teary eyes, you see Vane force a scowl on his face.

The terse, questionable familiarity with Vane doesn’t go unnoticed by the sly mariners.

On those nights, you seat yourself. Vane spits and curses at you, as he does with every other soul on Nassau, but he reserves a sort of hesitation. Sometimes his large, stained hands flex over the sword belt hanging loose over his hips. Sometimes, his lips curl with derision, ready to challenge your impertinence. Sometimes, Charles simply knocks his frothing tankard against your modest cup of cafè in cheers.

He has a terrible habit of throwing his dirty cravat in the betting pool. The pirates loathe and grimace at the sight of the tattered fabric, but it’s also humorous to see how Charles will get his scarf back. It usually delves to dares or bets, more gambling, or drunken thievery in the midst of night. Every time Vane bets his scarf, it returns to him.

During a rather humid afternoon and in the midst of a game, Vane had taken off his cravat, wiped sweat from his brow, then used it to check the current bet. Kenway, with whom you’d quickly bonded and grown to respect, catches your eye and smiles. “Tell me, Charlie,” he says breezily, and flicks a card at him. “What would you _not_ be willing to do for that disgusting scarf?”

“Kiss your ugly mug, for one thing,” Vane snaps. “How ‘bout you win the damn game first?”

Edward Teach folds his hand, and so does Jack Rackham. You chew your lip, the eyes of the other two on you, and you remain in the round. “Fancy betting your blade, Edward?” you ask him.

“The one on my wrist, you mean? Nah, that won’t ever be in the pool.”

Vane plays, then Kenway. The latter nods at you. “What’s your special trinket, princess? What would you bet?”

You hear a snort of surprise, and Vane looks up from his hand. “Princess? Who’s the princess around here?” He glares at you. “You?”

“Pay attention, Charles,” Kenway chuckles. “Or else you’ll keep that losing streak.”

You idly shuffle your cards, pretending to be interested in their order or color. All eyes, including those who aren’t currently in the round, are on you.

“Since when did you become royalty?” Vane asks roughly.

You toss a king of spades on the center of the table. “Since now.”

Groans of disbelief rise from ‘round the table. Teach’s the first to stand and seek a stronger drink from the main building; Kenway and Calico Jack follow closely behind. You sift through your winnings: torn coin purses, Teach’s secondhand pipe, Jack’s broken telescope, and Vane’s scarf.

You wordlessly hold out the dirty kerchief, and Vane snatches the cloth before the others can return and see the exchange. Later, they’ll assume or trade bets that he’d done you a quick one in the alley later. Vane starts to the shuffle the cards. A second glance shows that Vane has far and few coins left to bet. Soon he’ll have to borrow from the others, which he despises, or retreat completely for the evening.

“Keep an eye on his shuffling, eh?” you say to Teach. “I don’t want any missing aces like the last time.”

“Aye, princess,” the black bearded pirate says, adopting the nickname with a crooked grin.

“I’ll be back, gents.” You begin to rise from the table. “I just want to ask the keeper about--”

Vane’s hand snakes to your waist and drags you right on his lap, spilling your meticulously stacked coins and empty tankards in the process.

You can’t help a shriek of surprise, especially as Vane roughly adjusts you so his lips ghost over your right shoulder. The pirate subtly tugs your skirt to cover a flash of exposed skin; in such proximity, you catch the scent of charcoal and cedar underneath the alcohol that stains his coat and shirt.

“Don’t move,” Vane growls into your ear, and starts to restack the coins. “Just deal the cards.”

No pirate leapt to your defense, though you hadn’t expected any. As embarrassment flushes your face and exposed shoulders, you instinctively reach for the stack of worn, crinkled cards and sort them. Teach takes his cards with a slight smile. Jack stares agape, and jealously, until you kick him. You miss his shin and crack against his knee. Jack yelps and seizes his cards. Edward, who’s out of range, stares with his eyes wide and filled with awe.

“Kenway,” you say, to no avail.

“Edward,” Vane barks, and you jump slightly at his coarse voice next to your ear. One of his warm hands trail to your hip and squeezes lightly.

You swear that your heart skips a beat.

The blonde pirate snaps out of his daze, and hazardly picks up his cards. “Beg pardon,” he says, chuckling, discarding a spade without much contemplation, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Vane so cozy with anyone. You okay, Charles? Hot weather getting under your collar a bit?”

“Shut up and let’s gamble.”

And oh, do they gamble. Hiding a smirk behind the froth of ale, Kenway reckons your cultivated Nassau spirit won’t tolerate sitting on a lap for more than three rounds. Teach offers that maybe your luck and figure will end Vane’s losing streak for tonight. The Calico bets Charles Vane won’t kiss you.

“She’s not a prostitute for your perverse gaze,” Vane spits just as you open your mouth to angrily lash out.

“Oh? I ain’t ever met a lady who didn’t like showing off for pirates.”

You start to rise, ready to smack him upside. Then Vane leans forward to throw away an ace, forcing you to remain in place, and he squeezes your waist again. Maybe it’s his attempt to calm you. But your pulse is jumpy; you worry one of the gold coins between your palms, trying to keep collected.

Of course you’re flustered, because you can feel every shift, every taut muscle in Vane’s lean body. Of course you’re nervous, because you know he notices every shift in your body in return.

“At least you make a good match,” Kenway remarks suddenly. “Vane and the princess.”

“Kenway,” you say in a low, warning tone, which makes Vane shiver in response. His hand feels like an anchor.

“Always ready to fight pirates, merchants, sailors.”

“Aye,” Teach agrees with a smirk, dispelling any words from either Kenway or you. “But the two of ye won’t hurt each other.”

You can’t see Vane’s expression but his body tenses. “You’re mistaken,” Charles says gruffly. “I’ve hurt her plenty.” You should have asked what he meant by that. No, Vane’s never bruised you emotionally, mentally, and otherwise.

Then Jack pipes up and says, “Fucking her til she can’t walk doesn’t count.”

Vane nearly shoves you to the ground just to leap at the fellow pirate. You seize his thick coat instinctively to balance yourself, and Vane barely glances at you. “You best shut your _fucking_ mouth, Rackham,” the russet-hair pirate seethes. The Calico raises his hands in defeat, but his wicked tongue is feasting on the sight of the you.

Vane forces himself to look at the cards, and then at you. Your furrowed brow speaks more concern than anger. You slowly relax your grip, and drop down to the table.

Blackbeard and Kenway wisely remain silent.

Fighting the impulse to hurl more insults or threats, Vane settles for throwing down the winning card. It’s a queen this time, and immediately everyone threw down their cards and cursed. Kenway exclaims, “How in the world-- _oi_ , princess, come and sit ‘ere in the next round! I just can’t promise I’m as soft as Vane’s lap.”

Vane’s beard scrapes against your soft cheek as he reaches out and scoops up his first winnings of the week. “If the princess wants,” he mutters, the nickname rolling off his tongue with some hesitation.

Admittedly, you’re not eager to leave your seat. While the attention is unwanted, you are comfortable sitting and watching as Vane held you. Perhaps you weren’t in the best state to make judgements; the mixed scent of alcohol, sweat, and charcoal is overwhelming, but the underlying cedar urges you to breathe deeper.

“You look fine for a few more rounds,” you say to Kenway, gesturing at the wealthy pile of coins in front of him. “But Charles, I could play by myself again. Sorry to say, I’m not making any profit.”

“Split the winnings. Half and half.” Vane suggests, or rather demands to you. You turn and glare, and his lips immediately pull into a smirk. “Now, what’s with that look?”

“You’re betting my winnings, Charles. When all’s said and done, I keep my original amount, and take my share whatever we continue to win. Half and I’ll go and sit by Edward. Or Teach. They’re familiar with what’s known as ‘fair share’.”

Kenway howls with laughter, and slaps a smiling Blackbeard on the back. “I’ll drink to that,” Edward chokes out.

“You’re a fuckin’ thief,” Vane mutters, one of his hands idly twisting around one of your longer locks. His voice is a growl, and you can’t help the sear of attraction for the ragged pirate. It scorches and it brands, like the permeating heat of his hands on your hips. “Fine. But I ain’t counting.”

“Deal.” You turn around, barely missing the way Vane’s hot mouth brushes against your shoulder, and shove the deck of cards to Kenway. “Your turn to deal.”

“What’s the point? Might as well empty my pockets now,” he jokes, with no sign of disappointment for your rejection, and the game starts anew.

Being on Vane’s lap gets slightly easier as the two of you figure how to work around each other. After losing Kenway’s round, Vane, who has an ever worse poker face than you, further seeks your advice with each turn and draw of the cards. Thanks to work on the trade market, figuring probability was your strength, and lent to why you two won or narrowly lost in hard-pressed circumstances.

Jack’s comments grow more personal and snivelling with each additional tankard, but Vane and you wordlessly promise to remain indifferent to his insinuations. It seems after each snide question or remark, Vane settles against your back or holds you a little tighter.

“Go jerk off somewhere else, Calico, an’ maybe they can have a game in peace,” says James Kidd as he stalks up to the table. He sharply eyes the rest of the pirates, and then a bright white smile stretches ear to ear. “Oi, Charles Vane, getting a bit handsy with the lady! I didn’t think ye had a thing for women.”

His hand had been resting on your hip; no higher, no lower. “She had the money to play,” he grunts.

“Typical. Stealing where you can, leaving her at a loss. Though, you usually don’t keep business partners on your lap.”

If you hadn’t been in this awkward situation for the last half hour, you might have blushed bright red. It’s clear that Vane’s got a thing for you, and while the memory of a kiss stings your lips, neither of you had hardly professed any intimacy.

You gesture to your previous seat on the bench. “Can I deal you in, James?”

“Aye, while the sun hasn’t set.”

Kidd’s got quick hands and fresh eyes, and scoops the winnings for the his first two rounds. When it comes to poker with the pirates, no one ever really seriously gains nor loses money. It trades hands, empties pockets, then fills them right up. It’ll be fate, stepping in and making sure that no one pirate was winning or losing too much.

Vane’s eyes are transfixed with the cards Kidd and Kenway are dealing out, and he unconsciously curls his frame around yours. He’s warm, but not too stifling in the Nassau night. Some bar patrons come out and light the torches for the sake of your game. They swap out empty tankards and mugs for fresh drinks, and Vane gives you the responsibility of holding the cards to drink.

Kidd’s been staring at you for a long minute, and you flirtily smile. “It’s no use, James,” Teach grumbles, winning the game swiftly. “She won’t be leaving his lap or bed while Vane’s got a hold on her.”

“Wotcha mean, ‘a hold on her’?” Kidd asks, his alluring gaze not leaving you. He returns the cheeky smile. “She ain’t no one’s. And Vane ain’t done nothing but coddle. Hey, hey, princess. You want a pirate’s kiss?”

It’s your turn to frown and ask. “A pirate’s what?”

“ _Kiss._ Tastes like salt, tastes like the pirate. It ain’t the sort for gentlefolk, and I know you can handle it.”

Jack pipes up. “‘ere, I’ll show you.”

Vane and you immediately tense, the former reaching for the pistol strapped to his side but the Calico instead snatches the wrist of one of the barmaids. He kisses her deeply, roughly; the poor lass does nothing but hang to his narrow frame, completely caught off guard. Jack breaks away with a smirk. The maid does her best to look offended, swats Jack’s arm, and then hurries inside.

“Ain’t usually a kiss on the lips, either,” Kidd adds slyly.

“Well,” you say, rolling your eyes, “if it’s anything like you dodgy pirates, it’s as good as robbing loot for all its worth and then sinking ‘er to the ocean floor.”

No one argues.

“A pirate’s kiss might as well be fool’s gold,” you continue. Glittering in the sun, shaped with sharp angles, unlike a gold mineral’s unassuming and irregular form. You’d dealt with a fair share of gems and minerals on the port. Nothing quite enthralled or discouraged you like pyrite.

“Charles Vane,” Kenway says, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe you’ll change ‘er mind with a kiss of your own.”

“She doesn’t want a kiss,” Vane retorts. “Do you?” You quickly shake your head.

“Who said you had to ask for permission? Ain’t the point of being a pirate is taking what you want?” Kenway puts down his cards, and reaches across the table to cup your chin. You catch a glimpse of reassurance, of wit, in his sky blue eyes and in that moment, you decide to trust him. Edward Kenway’s mustache and beard tickles your skin as he kisses you on the lips, a hasty, chapped kind of kiss. Behind the suddenness of such a kiss, there’s a drop of emotion behind the kiss. A feeling that you can’t instantly identify, but it’s enough to make your eyes flutter open in surprise.

Then Vane’s hands are rough, grabbing your hips and dragging you back flush against his back and lap. You smooth your hair back and swallow the taste of ale in your mouth.

Edward chuckles, running a thumb over his lips. “You’re too slow, Captain Vane,” he chides. “But lucky for you, the night’s young.” The blonde captain brushes all of his winnings into a bag, and the three other pirates follow suit. Only you and Vane remain motionless, neither not sure _why_. “Thanks for the kiss, princess.”

The group disperses; Kenway flashes a curious look your way, but Vane only tightens his hold on you. Once they have left the table in pursuit of women, men, sleep, or drink, now does Vane dips his head close to your ear, and growl, “Did you enjoy that kiss?”

You stifle a gasp at the timbre in his voice. “Charles, I--”

“Did you?”

“It was just a kiss,” you hiss, finally seizing the hot blood coursing through your veins, from anger or embarrassment you didn’t know, and shove him back. You stand, knees buckling from disuse, and snatch your hand away from Vane’s. “Why do you care?”

“Would you prefer that men like Kenway _steal_ kisses from you?”

“That’s not what I asked.” You hate fighting with Vane, but in a terrible way it’s therapeutic. It was so difficult to communicate with each other unless the two of you were at the end of your nerves. “I’m forced to realize you would not stand to see men like Kenway show a sliver of attention towards me. And Charles, I would not debase you and call you _jealous_.”

His jaw sets and he still refuses to answer.

“Fine.”

You reach past Vane for your winnings, but he in turn stands and towers over you. You’d likely have to push him out of the way. Not that you weren’t opposed to the idea. But his dark emerald eyes flick up and down your frame and you’re frozen under his basilisk-like gaze.

Charles reaches up; you flinch instinctively.

But all he does, is press his rough, stained hand against your cheek. It’s warm, warmer than the humid night. “Why do you say such vile things?” Vane asks gruffly while tenderly carding through your tangled locks. The man is two halves of egos smashed together.

The worst part, you think as you lean into his touch, is that he’s made peace with himself, and he’s so delicately masked the divide.

“You treat me differently,” you say eventually, raising your gaze to meet his. “And you’re absolutely transparent with your feelings. But that’s all they are. Feelings.”

“Aye,” Vane says. “Is that not enough?”

Your breath catches. “I never knew it could be.”

“No one ever thinks so.” He starts to slip away, and you grab the lapels of his coat.

“Wait. What do you want from me?” Your words rush out. “Do you intend on teasing without end?”

Vane smirks. “You want to know if I’ll kiss or fuck like any other who shows slight attraction.”

“You don’t have to sound so vulgar--”

“I’m a _pirate_ , darling, and neither of us can help it.” His fingers trail to your jawlines and tilt your chin up. Vane raises his eyebrows in question. “Well, fine. Do you think a simple kiss would show you all the affection and care I have for you?”

You’re tempted to close the distance between your mouths. You’re desperate for closure, to define whatever lingers between yourself and Vane. It would be easy to say, _Yes_ , and demand such attention. One kiss, a thousand kisses-- at least a show of desire, from someone you so dearly loved.

But the answer, unknowingly unwilling, finds voice: “No.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Vane growls, stepping closer. His thumb skims over your trembling, parted lips. “You’d love nothing more than to tear me apart; it’s clear on your face. Why do you hesitate to ask for a kiss? With your mind and gambling luck, you could charm your way into any cabin. Kenway’s. Teach’s.”

“Charles,” you say softly, “I would ask for a kiss. But I do not want to steal it from you.”

His eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

It’s only been about wanting, stealing, taking what wasn’t yours. That was the pirate way; a Nassau motif. “A kiss from you… not a lot of people can brag such. But a kiss that _means_ something, even if it’s a sliver of what you feel…”

Understanding dawns in his gaze, and a rattling sigh escapes his body. From the way Vane leans down, or holds you closer, it suggests he’s been aching for this moment. He drifts his lips against your cheeks, the pulse in your neck, and then he whispers: “ _Can I kiss you?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> you know how people talk about their fics getting out of hand?
> 
> i understand now. but this was a lot of fun to write :)


End file.
